Domestic Drabbles
by kazumigirl
Summary: A collection of drabbles. Fluff alert. Humor alert.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note: Okay, so I know bathroom humor isn't everybody's cup of tea, but Watson and Holmes are still guys, and some things about guys just never change.  
**

Watson was pulled out of sleep again, hearing another one. He sat up, sniffing the air, and gagged. Holmes was fast asleep beside him, his mouth open, snoring loudly. Watson punched him in the arm. When Holmes did not wake up, he took his pillow and whacked him in the face. Holmes woke up, blocking the blows with his hands, his face as confused as anything.

"You're doing it again," Watson told him.

Holmes rolled his eyes and fell back on his pillow. "Do tell me you pommeled me awake for that very reason."

Watson laid back down too, rolling over. He muttered, "You need to move to the couch or something."

He heard Holmes roll over, but did not turn around to face him.

"Watson," Holmes said. "You're a doctor. Don't you understand the science behind this?"

The doctor raised his eyes, pondering this. "No, but I have a feeling you're about to give me a long, detailed explanation."

Holmes rolled over once more, turning his back to him. He sighed. "You'll explode if you hold it in."

Watson frowned, sitting up. " 'You'll explode'?" He rolled his eyes. "Really? That's the best you got?"

Holmes rolled onto his back, narrowing his eyes at Watson. "Alright then," he said, as if he were accepting a challenge. "Perhaps we should talk about the time you bent over to pick up that book you dropped." He shook his head slightly. "Even Gladstone raced to the door to get out. And that animal doesn't even run for his supper."

Watson closed his eyes, turning red, but he smiled. Holmes smiled too, and they both laughed a little. It was a bad move. Holmes' laughter was followed by a quiet, but unpleasant sound, which only made him laugh ten times harder. Watson groaned, preparing to leave the bed. Holmes put his arm on his firmly.

"Don't lift the covers," he warned.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Watson stared into space, his knees drawn up. Next to him, Holmes lay on the floor, staring at Watson staring into space. Neither of them said anything. They hadn't for a good ten minutes. The only noise was the dog shuffling through the mess, circling repeatedly until he was comfortable enough to plop down on a pile of clothes that hadn't been washed.

"We really need to clean up this room," Watson muttered for the millionth time that day. It had been his plan since the morning, to tidy up, but thus far, he had just lounged around, as lazy as the man he constantly complained about.

"Mm," Holmes replied, shifting himself slightly.

"Most of this isn't even my mess," Watson said, frowning, looking around.

"The clothes are yours," Holmes pointed out. He turned his head. "That's _your _waistcoat, _your _shirt, _your_ socks..." he grinned a little, shaking his head slightly against the floor. He tugged at the shirt he was wearing. "Yours."

"Shut up," Watson muttered, scratching his nose so Holmes could not see the smile forming on his own face. He leaned back on his palms. "We really have to get to work. We've been sitting like this since before noon."

Holmes shrugged, still flat on his back. "Hop to it then."

Watson stared at him. He reached down and pinched the detective in the side. Holmes jumped, letting out a half laugh, half cry, and used his feet to move himself further away, still on the floor. He rubbed the sore spot near his torso. "You're cruel to me, Watson."

"You just _slithered _through a sea of mess," Watson told him. "It's all in your hair."

Holmes fingered his hair. "Just dust."

"That's revolting," Watson said.

"Oh, look-" Holmes picked up something beside him. "It's one of your notes from when you refused to speak to me." He flipped it over. "Even in writing, you love to complain."

"At least I complain," Watson said, and against his better judgement, he laid down. "You _whine_."

"I do not."

More silence. They both stared up at the ceiling. The dog sneezed, loudly, and then went right back to sleep. Watson finally sat back up, patting Holmes on the leg. "Come on, let's get this place cleaned up."

"I'll supervise," Holmes said, making no effort to move.

"Alright." Watson shrugged, standing up. He stretched, his shirt raising just a bit, showing a glimpse of stomach. Holmes never realized such a sight would look so different from the floor.

"But if you're really too lazy to help me clean _our_ room," Watson said, staring down at him. "Then you're probably too lazy for any activities tonight."

Holmes held his arms out. Watson smirked and grunted slightly as he pulled him to his feet. Holmes looked around as Watson dusted debris from the detective's back and hair. "So how shall we go about this, Doctor?"


End file.
